A/N: *tackles jl1980* Thanks so much for giving this fic some love over here =)

~*~

She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what came next. “You need blood.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow—tinny.

A pause. Then: “Yeah. ‘m a vampire, we have a tendency towards suckin’ blood.”

Did it always hurt to do what you knew you needed to—to do the only thing you could do to make things right? For Buffy, it did.

She held out her wrist to him, still keeping her eyes closed. “Take mine.”

~*~

He didn’t particularly want to.

Oh, he wanted to take the Slayer’s blood—sweetest taste in the world, it was. But somehow, the idea of taking her blood when she was actually offering it just didn’t hold any allure.

But he couldn’t hurt her, and he knew he just had. She was the paragon of virtue and all that shit, and she was traveling with him. It would kill her, knowing that he was offing people behind his back.

He couldn’t hurt her. He’d be damned a second time if he knew why, but he couldn’t. If that meant drinking from a quiescent Slayer…

Hell, there were worse fates—this one had the perk of making him hard and horny as hell in just a few seconds. The Slayer in his arms, his teeth buried in her neck in an intimate, deadly kiss—it was enough to make a man weak.

Luckily, he wasn’t one.

His mind made up, Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her to him—but instead of drinking from her wrist, as she clearly wanted, he wedged her body against his and slid a hand around to stroke her belly.

He felt her shudder. “What—“

“Shh,” he purred into her ear, moving his hand in circles on her stomach. He dipped his head to her neck, inhaling—flowers, sweat, and Slayer scent. The combination was enough to make his head spin and the demon in him clamor in anticipation.

But she was afraid. For some reason, that irritated him. The fear would make the blood sweeter—but he didn’t want her afraid, damn it.

“’s not going to hurt,” he whispered.

She laughed harshly. “Of course it’s going to hurt,” she snapped. “What do you think I am, stupid? You’re a monster.”

That was it. Both the demon in the man snapped inside him the second the words left her mouth, and before he really had time to think about it, he’d spun her around and shoved her small, soft body up against the rough brick wall of the alley.

He held both her arms in a grip too strong even for the Slayer to break, and his mouth attacked her. Ravaging, desperate, fighting to believe the unbelievable—that he, a vampire, should want a Slayer so much that he’d give up hunting to keep her.

He heard her moan—felt her lips begin moving against his—and suddenly the flesh he held came alive. Her arms ripped free of his grasp, coming to wrap around his neck in an almost choking hold, as she kissed him back, her fury matching his own. Teeth clashed against teeth—tongues tangled, furious to the point of being painful. It only made him harder, made him want her still more.

His leg thrust in between hers and they both threw back their heads, panting at the sensations that even that tiny amount of friction gave them. God, if he didn’t get relief soon he was going to sodding well explode.

“Spike,” the Slayer gasped—the word a breathy little murmur that no proper Slayer would ever let cross her lips for fear of sounding weak.

And with that, he was lost. One hand squeezing her breast, pinching a hard nipple, the other supporting her by way of a firm grip on her bottom, Spike shifted into game face—snarled in triumph—and sank his teeth into Buffy’s neck.

~*~

She’d known it would hurt. He was a vampire, his teeth were going to cut her; logic told her that it would hurt.

But logic had no place in this dark alley.

She expected him to just take her wrist, drink from it, and then let her leave. She’d wanted him to do that. She knew all too well that bite encounters could turn sexual, and she’d wanted to avoid that at all costs.

Then he’d kissed her, and her world had fallen apart. All she’d cared about after that was that he keep kissing her, keep touching her, keep feeding the fire that burned in her blood. Her breasts and bottom had burned where he touched them, and every time his lips clashed with hers it had sent bolts of pure electricity straight down to her pussy.

Now all she was aware of was the demon at her neck, lapping up her blood. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and to her humiliation, the fire was concentrated between her legs—the one place she would have given anything for it not to be. The more blood he took from her, the more the fire grew.

Minutes passed. The alley was silent save for their harsh breathing and Spike’s animalistic growls as he sucked at her neck. Adrenalin and lust were sustaining her, but Buffy knew that if he wanted her to be able to walk, he needed to stop soon…but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

Rule Twenty: A Slayer must never find herself in a position where a vampire may feed upon her, as being in such a position will certainly result in death, turning, or bonding to the vampire in question. She knew Spike wouldn’t turn her, and the mating ritual was out of the question…which meant that he was going to kill her. And God help her, but she wanted it. Her knees were quivering, her belly was on fire, and more than anything in the world, she needed him to keep going. And when he did, she would die.

She closed her eyes, and to her horror, a tear somehow slipped out. “Please,” she whispered, her voice not sounding like her own, “Please. I need to…I don’t…”

Suddenly, he froze. His hands stopped moving against her—his teeth slipped out of her neck. She couldn’t tell if he still wore his demonic face; she kept her eyes shut tight. But something was different—the predatory, lustful atmosphere had eased, and in its place was something that terrified her even more. She could almost feel concern radiating from the vampire who had her trapped.

He was nuzzling her neck now, licking the wound closed and making soft, concerned purring noises that made her shiver. She could feel his ridged forehead brushing against her neck…and then the bones shifted.

“Slayer. Slayer, open your eyes. Look at me, dammit!” His voice was rough; if he wasn’t a vampire, she’d have said he was worried.

Her eyes came open almost of their own accord. Spike was staring at her, his human face back in place, blue eyes boring into hers. She blinked—and couldn’t make her eyes open again. His gaze was too intense. In fact, everything was…she felt her muscles go limp, felt her head spin…she could hear him yelling, but it wasn’t enough to bring her back…she felt so peaceful, here in the warm dark…

And Buffy fainted, falling into Spike’s arms.

~*~